Starsurge - Dreams of Azure
by Hoxadrine
Summary: [From the Starsurge 'verse] It's only on his hardest days when Illidan travels to this dangerous realm, The Azure Dream. Inside this world is where his deepest, darkest desires are shown to him: Power, wealth, beauty, the woman he wants—all he had ever wanted, all he had ever yearned for, only at hand's reach for him to grasp and claim as his.
1. Lusting for a Star

_This piece works as a side story of Starsurge, so it's quite spoiler-free. However, some scenes from here may appear on the main story in the future._

* * *

His eyes open in sudden shock, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to adjust his sights, trying to figure out something in the thick dark surrounding him. His head feels groggy, his senses going numb with the hard beating of his heart behind his ribs, and his head lolls back onto the floor when he feels his whole body aching, unable to find some strength or will to remove himself from where he lays.

Somehow he manages to crack his eyes open once more, only a small golden line which glances at the roof—a roof that he slowly starts to recognize as the one from his own house. A relieved sigh escapes his mouth. _I must have dozed off after drinking all my reserves of wine… again_ , he realizes, allowing his muscles to relax for a little bit.

Yet his head starts to throb and the floor feels hard and cold under him, provoking a pained groan out of him. His fingers twitch, scrambling for some purchase, and his vision gets more clouded once he manages to gather some strength, damp strands of hair falling on his face as he sits straight.

His breath hitches when his nose captures a strong, bitter smell that doesn't belong to his own sweat, a shiver running down his back at the same time as a feeling of trepidation climbs onto him, tensing his muscles.

 _Something is not right._

His golden eyes open wide, once again trying to figure out something in the dim light, his fireplace only providing a little illumination—and barely so, with the remaining fire quickly evening out.

White dots dance in front of his eyes as he shakes his head, yet his senses keep dulled and his gaze clouded, the room spinning wildly in front of him. But the bitter smell grows stronger around him and a cold, chill breeze runs and strokes the back of his neck, eliciting him— _tempting_ him—to relax once more, to stop worrying so much, to just lie down again and wait for the dizziness to pass.

But he doesn't surrender, forcing his body to respond to his demands and getting on all fours, doing his best to ignore the hard clench of his stomach and the sudden need to puke. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring with his deep breathing and sweat gathering on his thick brows with the effort of maintaining some self-control. Yet when his head lifts, he finally discovers the reason of his clouded sight.

The fire runs out, only the dim moonlight coming through a high window providing some light to the room—a room flooded with a faint sapphire mist.

The cold breeze returns from behind him, bringing a thick smoke on its way, filling the place in thick waves of azure, joining and mixing with the sapphire mist, swaying and dancing in front of his eyes.

He feels entranced with the sight, the living room devoid of all colors except the rising mist before him. The acrid taste and smell of magic fills his nose and mouth as the mist thickens and surrounds him—yet never touching his skin, only waving before him, _seducing him_ …

 _Illidan._

His neck cranes violently to the side, ears twitching in recognition. _Illidan…_ His heart leaps before clenching in pain, but he can't figure out if her voice comes from inside or outside of his head.

 _Illidan!_

The thickest of fogs comes from the first floor of his house, falling down the stairs in waves of purple and violet, clouding the living room and leaving him unable to see something further ahead than his own hands, trembling and barely holding his body.

The woman cries his name again and again, her voice rising in despair, and his breathing quickens, his insides clenching in fear as he tries once more to get control of his own body, forcing his limbs to respond somehow.

His tongue fumbles and struggles with some words of reassurance, mouth opening and attempting to yell something, anything. "Myl—!" He tries to speak, but his voice comes out thin and rasped, like sand running down his throat. "Myl—Mylie…"

Her sobs fill the entire room and his ears, even blocking the noise of the wild hammering of his heart inside his chest. The throbbing of his head is long gone, the pain being replaced with only sheer dread.

 _What is happening? Where am I? What is this place?_

Slowly, carefully, the thick violet fog moves forward to where he lies, long claws made of smoke attempting to reach him in the sea of azure and sapphire that fills the room. Like the warm caress of a lover, the fog swallows him in its embrace, blocking his sight from everything except the path ahead—the small hallway and the wooden stairs leading to the first floor.

The scent of her fills his nose when the fog touches him—the smell of lilies, the refreshing air of the moonlight mixed with the feminine scent of her skin—invigorating him, keeping his limbs from trembling. With another deep inhale, he starts to crawl.

His vision gets blurry around the corners, covering his sights in shades of azure, yet he keeps moving forward. Somehow it feels like only the violet fog is encouraging him to move along, embracing his limbs and soothing his mind—a feeling he only gets with her presence.

A surge of adrenaline runs through his veins at the thought, muscles flexing and gathering the strength he needs to climb the stair. The azure still clouds his vision, but he's quick into forgetting the reasons of their presence, just as quick as he forgets where he stands and what he leaves behind as he gets to the end of the hallway.

Climbing up the stair gets to be a hard task—one step at the time, elbows and knees pushing his way up—yet it's when her voice starts to even out that he gathers all the energy he can muster to hurry up.

A dark wooden door materializes in front of him when he reaches the first floor, a door he doesn't remember to be there in the first place. _To be where?_ Behind the newfound obstacle, bright purple lights are shown through the gaps, and the violet fog which once surrounded him easily makes its way in—thin tendrils of smoke slipping in through the keyhole.

After the thick fog fades away, his hand goes to grab the handle. But then, as his fingers ghost over the marbled surface, a symbol displays over the dark wood and before him—slowly, in very small strokes, as if a magic rune is being engraved in front of his eyes.

Like painted with invisible fingers, first comes a violet circle. Then, two curved lines, from left to right, together creating the symbol of an eye. His hand stays still, hovering in the air, getting an odd feeling creeping down the back of his neck—he doesn't dare to touch the door until the rune is finished.

And it's just as the eye starts to glow when a bright four-pointed silver star is shown in the middle of the circle, burning the dark wood and shining as the very Moon before his face. The light glimmers over his skin as if moonlight reflecting over water—caressing his cheek, his neck, his arms, all the places it can reach.

Violet and silver. An eye and a four-pointed star...

 _The sigil of House Stareye._

As if guided by pure instinct, his palm travels to the silver star, fingertips ghosting over the burned texture at the same time as his tongue wets his bottom lip. His mouth whispers a spell he doesn't recognize nor remembers, his voice low yet steady—as if someone is reciting the correct words for him.

Cascading waves of smoke appear from under his palm, the bright symbol shifting and glowing in shades of gold and white. And just like that, the rune disappears; fading and flying away like a leaf with the soft gust of wind.

The door opens before him but, somehow, he's suddenly afraid to enter. He can't help with being wary as a big, opulent hall is displayed in front of his eyes. The luxury of the room slowly unveils beyond the violet mist which had been following him, spreading and inviting him in.

A barefoot takes a tentative step into the hall, stepping onto a soft, expensive carpet. "I know you would come, Illidan..." Her voice is soft, drifting through and caressing him like pale moonlight on a warm night.

She's dressed like the very embodiment of the Goddess; a golden, very elaborate diadem with a silver half-moon—pointing upwards, the symbol of femininity—adorning her head, wearing a long, oh so long alabaster-colored dress which she fits in like a second skin. Her legs are bare just as her feet, rushing to where he stands with her bright aura following her every step.

Her face is just as bright when she sees him, leftovers of translucent tears fleeing from her violet-striped cheeks as she gets closer, pinning him in place with the warmest of arms aiming for his neck.

What remains of the air in his lungs is coaxed out as the Godlike woman crushes him in a deep embrace; her silky form—as silky as her clothes— _melding_ , wrapping around and leaving him cocooned in her warmth, in her soothing scent, sheltering his mind and body from any outside threat.

Mylenne— _no, the Goddess_ —clings to him tightly, as if she always belonged there, into the crook of his arms; as if she's the very piece that always was missing in him, making him whole again.

"Mylie…" He sighs with what's left of the remaining air on him, her name like a prayer.

One of her hands brush over the back of his neck and he surrenders to her embrace, burying his face in the Goddess' hair. Before his eyes flutter close, eyelids heavy as a rock, the last he can see are the mists—an ocean of sapphire and azure swallowing them whole.

He feels how his feet no longer touch the ground, his own hair brushing his ears in waves as they float, the room empty of air, gravity, empty of everything and anything at all—and the woman in his arms, the single solid thing he had ever needed.

He feels so _light_ that it takes a while to realize they have already landed somewhere, yet his senses return full force when wet, smooth lips trail over his neck, his chest, and his shoulders. He can't do as much as sigh in pleasure, dizzy and lightheaded, all the nerves in his body reacting to her every touch.

"I am yours, Illidan," He hears her whispering to the crook of his neck, the sound of his name like the most soothing melody, sending shivers down his spine. "I have been yours since we met. Always yours, forever yours…"

 _Always mine, forever mine_ , he can only think, his voice abandoning him in the next heavy breathing, hoping she can at least hear his agreement with the wild hammering of his heart. He feels so dazed, so intoxicated with her touch that opening his eyes gets to be the hardest task he had ever done.

Yet when his efforts are successful—attempting to cradle her face in his hands in the process—he's left barely stunned and breathless at the sight displayed before his eyes.

Straddling his waist, Mylenne appears before him completely naked, only covered with her cascading hair and bright, glowing aura…

And she's the most beautiful creature his eyes ever had the pleasure to see.

He realizes they are on a bed when she turns them over, her back to the mattress, and he can only do as much as brace himself with his elbows—wobbly and weak—holding the weight of his body, just as naked and bare as hers. Her long, impossibly long legs encircle his waist, bringing him an anchor he never thought possible.

Her bright violet hair is a wild cascade behind her head, displayed as if only made for his eyes to see. One of her hands gets between their brushing and bare chests, the softest of fingers encircling his length and eliciting the most high-pitched moan out of him as she gently guides him to her entrance.

Mylenne doesn't speak until he's buried to the hilt and he doesn't dare to move—his legs, his arms, his whole body is shaking too much for him to think straight, alarms running loud and wide inside his head.

 _It's all too much, too much,_ too much _!_

Her breath brush over his face and his nostrils flare as he breathes it all, feeling like coming up for air after being underwater for centuries. But then, she speaks: " _Kene'thil surfas_." She whispers the words that are only said to a life mate. Only to one's other half.

And the words which mark his undoing.

His body moves in its own accord, hips twisting, muscles rippling, arms encircling her as his mouth finds its place in the crook of her neck. He'd never made love before—he doesn't even remember half of the faces that once spent a day in his bed—yet, somehow, his limbs make the dance for him, gently, lovingly.

However, she's the one to set the pace, a hand holding the back of his thigh and the other scratching his lower back as her hips move to meet his. The perfect column of her throat bobs within each of his movements, her nails leaving passionate marks on its way up his wide back.

Every inch of her feels like pure fire, her magic flaring out and embracing him—mystic violet tendrils thin as smoke caressing his skin—the scent of lilies and moonlight filling his nose and going straight to his brain; utterly destroying every possibility for him to step back, to stop and break whenever hallucination or dream he's having.

It can't possibly be real when all he wants is to crawl out of his skin and take shelter inside of her for the rest of his miserable life.

His heart pounds so hard, lungs burning with overwhelming need of her, and he can't grasp or understand anything beyond her voice moaning his name with each of his thrusts, or the small voice inside his head, screaming _more, please more._ His hands travel to stroke all the places they can reach; her legs, her hips, her breasts, her spine, arched and tight as a bowstring.

His tongue darts out to lick that spot right under her ear, and it's when he tastes her magic that something snaps inside of him, pupils blowing wide and breath hitching.

 _This is it… Yes, oh Goddess,_ yes _!_

He stops hearing her pleas, licking and nipping all the places he can reach, a deep growl making its way out from the bottom of his throat; demanding, predatory, making her whole body tremble beneath him.

Finally, his mouth finds hers, taking all of her in, not even bothering to breathe.

Mylenne screams inside his mouth, her entire body clenching around him before they both explode, white hot stars dancing before his eyes. In that perfect moment, his heart stops pumping blood for a bare moment before encompassing its heartbeat with the woman underneath him.

 _I need more, there has to be more..._

He forces her lips to open wider, burying himself to the hilt and locking themselves in their joining as her very essence mingles and intertwines with his—azure and gold with violet and silver, the only colors he can see, he can feel, he can _breathe_.

She keeps screaming inside his mouth and he swallows all that she is like the thirstiest man in the world. He looms over her, covering all her body with his own, muscles swelling and growing as pure, unadulterated magic strikes through his very core.

Yet he wants more, he _needs_ more; his body, his very soul craves for every inch he can taste, take and claim.

 _This can't be all. It's not enough, not enough,_ not enough _!_

To take her, to hear his name coming from her lips, to kiss her, to make love to her—this is all he had ever wanted, the reason of his despicable existence, the very principle of his life... what he was born and called on this world to do.

All that she is, from the intangible essence of her soul to her impossibly silky body; all is made and created for him to take and claim as his. And her inner magic… dear Goddess and deities above, her _magic_. He had never felt something like that before, something so pure and so whole that enlightens all the dark, webbed corners of his being.

He feels more powerful than ever, transformed, altered—as if all his cells had been pulled out, twisted, rearranged, and then put back together.

For the first time in more than two thousand years, he feels _complete._

After having the impression that eons have passed before his lungs clench with the need for air, he finally parts. The most pleased smile is plastered on his mouth, wet and stained with magic, the tip of his tongue tingling with the remains of its taste as it slowly cleans his lower lip, savoring all he can.

But then, the soft hands that once were clinging to his neck fall like heavy rocks to the sides, the heartbeat that once encompassed his own fading in her next exhale of breath—just as the bright glowing of her eyes when he opens his and looks at her.

He blinks once, twice, thrice, but Mylenne is not _there_ anymore and he only can stare at her big eyes, looking without seeing; tendrils of azure spreading like spider webs over the silver of her gaze.

 _No, no… What have I done?_

Sheer desperation grips him like a vice and he returns his lips to her mouth, trying to fill her lungs with air, trying to do something, _anything_ that somehow may fix what he had just done. But her body runs cold, oh so cold, icy veins showing beneath an equally cold skin.

Beyond his powerful, violet aura—flaring like a beacon over his skin—now he only sees azure… and it's _everywhere_. In the air, in the bed, in her body, corrupting and tainting everything it can reach.

 _What have I done?_

And he's on fire, melting all that she is with his touch, a wild, uncontrollable violet mist enveloping his hands. Her name comes out of his lips in a roar, desperate hands attempting to hold what's left of her, clawing and shredding a long cold body, a long gone soul.

 _What have I done?_


	2. the Hunger within

He takes two deep breaths, getting a deep sense of cleansing when the cold air of the night breeze fills his lungs, allowing his feet to take him where they want to go. Moving forward, the forest is dark and silent as a temple, not a single soul walking among the cerulean trees except for him.

It's exactly as he likes it.

With a relaxed smile, he takes a glance at the cloudless sky, the full Moon and her warm light washing over him like the purest of blessings. _Is this how Elune's followers feel when touched by the moonlight?_ He wonders, eyes drifting close, a delightful feeling of realization warming him from the inside out.

If it is… then he might as well get to pray more often.

Somehow it feels odd, for he had ever felt something like it before—fulfillment, serenity, such a wholesome feeling that envelops him like a blanket. A sigh full of contentment escapes his lips as he keeps walking, his feet lighter than ever before, arms spreading around and fingertips idly brushing over tall grass and tree trunks.

He's not sure how he got there or why, yet whatever those reasons may be, he decides for allowing the breeze to take those thoughts away, uncaring for the moment. Right there, it's better to walk around empty of questions—for it is an endless loop that always demands answers, and he's definitely not in the mood for that.

Or better yet, and create some new ones as he goes; some silly and mindless questions to be precise, those that only work to entertain himself for a couple of minutes before being dropped and forgotten.

Glancing at the landscape displaying before his eyes, a simple one clings to his mind—for there's the shadow of a figure, not so far away, their form reflecting the bright moonlight back at him like a glass mirror.

Who is it? Judging only by the shape of the shadow, he idly guesses there's a woman there.

He doesn't really know why, but he smiles at the figure, another warm feeling blossoming from inside his chest. Some ancient books describe tales and stories about manifestations of the Goddess wandering around the forests at night, always walking without any certain destination, only basking in what it feels like—to be on the mortal plane—if only for one night. Sometimes, they come and go in the form of a doe, and others in the shape of a female.

Whoever she may be, she looks stunningly beautiful, and that's enough for him to be grateful for the sight.

His feet lead him to the figure, cold tendrils of azure softly pulling him along. He allows it, mildly curious for what the view is about to unfold as he moves forward. It's mesmerizing, nearly hypnotizing to look at her, her skin gleaming and shimmering in bright shades of silver and white, giving her some spiritual resemblance—definitely otherworldly, utterly _divine_.

What he never considers is that his own curiosity is to blame when, suddenly, it all comes crashing down.

From his position, he then sees a second shadow showing itself and looming over the female, a dark, clawed hand in shades of azure taking form above her as she stands up from the grass. He's only left to watch, unexpectedly rooted in his spot, as the figure—bigger, taller, more muscled, definitely resembling a male—closes its claws onto a fist and walks away, the woman following it along without protesting.

A sense of trepidation grips him tightly, his eyes unblinking as he stares at the female; for her walking looks… odd, carrying herself around and away as if having strings pulling her limbs.

Like a lifeless puppet.

For a long minute, he seriously considers dropping the subject and turning around, just forget about what he saw and mind his own business—whatever those are. How did he get there, again? Had he been looking for something? _Why_ is he there?

Questions, questions, dozens of questions assault his mind, shattering his previous serenity and much-needed easiness. Who are they? Why are they hanging along in the forest? Why is the female following that shadow without any hesitation at all?

Why? Why would she do that? Can't she see how… dangerous, how threatening that tall, dark figure appears to be? And why does he have to be so curious about matters that definitely don't concern him?

But, most of all, why do their figures look so _familiar_?

The shadows saunter away, bright silver and dark azure following their way to a lake located far to the east and, somehow, he still can't move. In fact, the entire landscape seems to move but him—thick clouds shading the vast expanse of stars in the sky and turning them off like candles, leaves and dark branches croaking with the night wind, mists streaming and wrapping around his feet, everything whispering, whispering…

His eyes blow wide when takes a glance at his feet, loud alarms ringing inside his head.

… The mists are _violet_.

 _Oh, no. No, Goddess… no, no!_

Sheer, deep dread overtakes him, sending his heart racing as he starts running like a madman, his feet barely touching the grass. The forest doesn't seem to mind his sudden distress, the whole landscape still whispering its lullaby while he uses a shortcut to the lake, climbing up onto a cliff to get a better view.

The mists don't follow him as he believed so, taking instead the long route to the border of the lake, long tendrils of smoke idly and slowly making its way through grass and water altogether—lurking around like a silent predator, but also pointing him to where he needs to focus his sights on.

From his vantage point, he crouches into the shadows, spotting the two figures resting together at the rim, the faceless shadow running a hand through the female's long hair—gently, almost… _lovingly_. The woman's silver chest heaves, breasts slowly going up and down with her breathing, yet she doesn't look tired nor scared but _relaxed_ , leaning further and further into the shadow's touch.

They seem to be lovers but, somehow, as the male cradles her in his lap, the whole scene feels so… wrong.

A clawed hand in shades of azure cups her tender face and he can't do anything but stay frozen in his spot, his breath hitching when the figures close together in a passionate kiss. Still, the ghostly female doesn't seem to resist, surrendering to the shadow's touch in a mere second.

But while the shadow embraces her and pushes her into him—dark waves of azure enveloping her shimmering form—the woman relaxes further and further, until her arms fall like heavy rocks to her sides and her head lolls backwards, going completely limp.

A so very soft moan clings to his ears, nearly unheard if not for the night wind drifting to where he lurks, yet the voice of her makes him snap as if getting a punch on his face. His pupils blow wide, sheer rage filling every corner of his being.

 _That's Mylie's voice._

Like a nightsaber, he jumps off the cliff, large shadows following him and clouding what once was a breathtaking landscape as he lands on all fours, pouncing on the faceless male like a rabid animal, without any second thought.

"You will not have her!" He roars, his voice reverberating like a thunder, straddling the shadow and landing a solid blow on the male's face with a full fist.

From that close distance, he's able to see the dark figure's face… shaping, thick azure smoke giving it form until Jarod Shadowsong's eyes glare at him from below. Utterly disgusted and angrier than before, he punches him with both fists for good measure, taking no small pleasure at hearing his grunts.

"Elune curse you!" He hits him again, bones cracking. He uses his other fist to land a blow on the same place, dark blood spluttering from his now broken nose. " _You. Will. Not. Have. Her!_ " He keeps punching the shadow, pupils dilating and ears ringing with his never-ending fury.

He will not let that happening again, he will not let another man make the same mistake as he once did—not if he can do something about it in that nightmarish world.

Because it's a nightmare, right? But then, when did he fall asleep?

A few meters ahead, at the border of the lake, Mylenne's small figure crawls to him. "No…, please… wait," She croaks, her voice trembling just as her tired limbs. From his periphery, he gets a blurry look of her outstretched arm, yet it only works as a second of hesitation before keeping up his previous task, doing his best to take the smug smile off Lord Desdel's face.

"You… bastard!" He barks, using a hand to strangle Lord Desdel when he attempts to struggle, punching him again and again with all the force he can muster. Desdel only chuckles in return, voice thick with blood and head banging over the bare grass, yet taunting him with every breath he still takes.

His ears keep ringing loudly, following the sound of his fists breaking skin and bones altogether. How had he ended up in that place? It all feels so… intense, so _tempting_ ; from the warm moonlight caressing his skin to Mylie's ever alluring smell of lilies, the scent going straight to his chest and wrapping around his heart.

His face and hands stain with blood, Mylie and lilies and violet drifting away in the next gust of wind—the sulfuric smell of azure filling his nostrils and his brain, overtaking the rational part of his mind, shading him from the whole world.

Blinding him from everything, except for his utter need to _kill_ Hargo'then with his bare hands.

"Please, no!" Mylenne cries, throwing herself between him and the bloody mess of Hargo'then, shimmering tears streaming down her terrified face. "Don't do this!" Shaky and pale fingers cling to his chest in her attempt to push him aside. "He—he needs me!"

"Get away from him, Mylie!" He shouts, his heartbeat rising in sheer panic as he shoves her away from Hargo'then and closer to him, not even daring to think what could happen if the shadow gets to touch her again.

Straightening up in a mere second, he grips her by her forearms, "Mylie, come with me! I can protect you, just—just come," He begs as he tries to push her further away from the threatening figure.

But then, within their struggle, something seems to _shatter_ around him, the sound of a sharp whiplash filling his ears as Mylenne falls limp into the crook of his arms.

Like a lifeless puppet.

He stumbles in his effort to hold her weight, a surprised gasp following him when her head lolls back, a cold and pale cheek landing on the ball of his shoulder—the invisible strings that once seemed to held her breaking, thick violet smoke spreading out of her like _poison_.

He coughs violently as he falls to his knees, cradling her cold body in his lap in the best way he can. "What—what have you done?" He croaks, panic overtaking every single cell of his trembling body. "Why… what have you done? What have you done!?" He repeats over and over, shocked, a tight lump closing on his throat.

The shadow gets on his feet effortlessly, stepping onto the moonlight and looming over him, throwing Mylenne's strings aside as if they are useless. "What you were supposed to do," The male retorts, his disappointed baritone voice reverberating through the whole forest.

He pushes the woman's corpse further to his chest as he looks up, staring in sheer horror at the figure before him, looking straight into his golden eyes stained in azure. "All of her is ours for the taking—her heart, her body, her soul," Illidan continues, cleaning the leftovers of her magic from his mouth with the back of a clawed hand.

He can only stare at the monstrous version of himself, frozen in his spot; unable to move, to breathe, to even _think_ as Illidan crouches next to him, the moonlight haloing his head, mouth dripping wet in shades of violet. "She's ours. Always ours, forever ours…"

 _Always yours, forever yours…_ , her lovely voice whispers inside his head like a prayer, echoing and repeating itself next to the sound of his wild heartbeat—working as a balm when a clawed hand encloses tightly on his neck.

 _"_ And in this world, she's _mine_ ," It's the last thing he hears from Illidan as he strangulates him, golden eyes polluted with azure; boring, burning, scorching him from the inside out.

And he doesn't struggle, leaning into the shadow of himself as he ends his agony.


	3. dear Lie

**Darnassian:**

 **Quel'dorei:** Children of noble birth, also slang for Highborne.

 **Anath'ashar:** Old dialect. May translate to "Face your demise". It's said when engaged or about to engage in combat, as a warning or a taunt.

 **Min'da:** Mother.

* * *

A heavy dizziness overtakes him before he can even drift his eyes open, his stomach clenching and churning, his head feeling like spinning. With wobbly limbs, he searches for some leverage to stand and straighten, only to find that everything trembles around him.

Some sense of adrenaline kicks in when his ears twitch, hearing what seems to be a horde of stomping foot coming behind him, streets of concrete and cobblestone shaking in their path. As he rises and takes a look around, a crowd of more than a dozen kaldorei comes into view, men and women carrying sticks, torches and stones as they stride to the old roads leading to Suramar's harbor.

 _What's going on?_ _What's all this fuss?_ He wants to ask, but no voice comes from his lips and neither his presence is acknowledged, the crowd running past him as if he never is there in the first place.

For a mere moment, he's left half stunned, growing slightly offended—unaccustomed to not getting the main attention as he's used to when he arrives in this hellish place—deciding to take a look at himself when curiosity perks at him. With no small surprise, he finds an ethereal glow washing over his skin as he brings his hands and arms into view, his body lacking any color.

A female elf rushes _through_ him in the next second, shouting and carrying a big torch as she follows the crowd into the harbor, and he feels nothing except a small gust of wind waving among and around.

 _What's this? What's happening? This isn't like any dream I had before…_

A sense of confusion mixed with cold trepidation clings onto him way sooner that he's used to as well. His very small knowledge of the realm he's trapped into, how useful could it be if he doesn't even have the chance to, somehow, predict what could happen next?

 _Am I dreaming, at all?_ The usual pondering resurges, the voice of doubt coming to be the only familiar resemblance he can, somehow, amount and recognize in that unknown setting.

Is he ever going to stop having that shallow feeling of hopelessness and uncertainty, that near sense of emptiness he gets every time he's forced to visit that dreadful realm?

At first, all he can hear is the resonant howling and screaming coming from the next corner of the street, the enraged crowd bellowing words he can't come to understand, their language unknown to him yet holding some similarity to the ones he knows—different slangs, dialects and accents from a way past time. The very few words he can grasp are _Quel'dorei_ and _Anath'ashar_ as he can't do anything but approach to the multitude, his feet leading the way as if having a life of its own.

The crowd gets on assaulting an opulent transport cart, its four bearers carrying a Highborne Lady with what seems to be her daughter inside. The child cries and clings tightly to her mother's neck after the bearers stop short, nearly dropping the cart in sudden shock. The elder woman jumps outside the vehicle before the multitude comes to reach them, cradling her daughter as close as she can.

 _Where are the Lady's guards?_ He can't help but wonder, the scene looking quite bizarre and strange given the place they seem to be, making his way among the crowd. _Because this is Suramar's harbor… isn't it?_

He can't grasp the words she barks back, a sharp set of canines showing menacingly as she's cornered to the end of a bridge, but his attention easily shifts to the woman's appearance, her features looking very familiar. A bright curtain of violet hair elegantly tied up, a curvy silver crown adorning the top of her head, sharp golden eyes glowing angrily behind two vertical violet stripes painted from forehead to cheeks.

He's consciously aware of what the woman is about to do as she raises a palm, glowing and shimmering in dark shades of purple—some tints of azure revealing as her spell takes form, spreading along and around, seeming to swallow and poison whatever it comes to its reach.

 _No, Mylenne…! Your daughter is there, you_ monster _!_

Despite the fearsome display, he struggles to move past the crowd enclosing him, panic overtaking whatever sense of self-preservation he may have, his hands reaching desperately for the little sobbing girl; her small face soaked in tears, contorted and teeth clenching as if in agonizing pain.

The brightest arcane explosion he has ever seen follows, the whole scenery trembling violently with the force of her magic—his ears ringing painfully and eyes shutting close, leaving him unable to react as the blast strikes him and sends him flying, just like the rest of the multitude around.

He can still see white after his eyes drift open, a growing fear settling in and sheer cold running down his spine after thinking he may have been left blind—yet as his senses adjust once more, a burning surrounding then appears before him, the setting changed drastically.

 _What…? Where am I?_

Just as quickly as his thoughts come, they are brushed aside just as fast when a younger woman comes into his line of sight, running past a sumptuous garden half settled on fire. Then again, he can't answer for his own body as his feet get on the move, following the girl into the thick forest, jumping over a broken silver fence. As the city's outskirts start disappearing from sight, for a moment he loses her tracks as she delves deep into the woods—yet it's her long curtain of violet hair what gives her away, waving sharply as a whip from his periphery as the woman speeds up in her sprint.

He runs after her for what it feels like hours, crying Mylenne's name from the bottom of his lungs—his voice and thoughts, the only thing from him he can have some control of—not finding the will to stop doing so, even when not a single sound comes from his lips in his attempts.

Not a breath, not a pant, not even his steps are heard, and the sheer silence only works for his unease to run deeper through him.

 _What's the point of all this if there's nothing I can do against it? What's the meaning? Is this only meant to torture me?_

Many miles after, the girl stops running, past the forest and before the sea shores, giving him some sense of relief as he's finally able to approach her. A spectral hand travels to one of her bare shoulders, hesitating at first, considering his options. Is it wise to touch her? Nothing good ever comes to happen when he does so…

Regardless of his ponderings, his hand stops midway after a swift gust of wind rushes through them both, her slender form shifting, _changing_ all in a sudden and before his eyes.

As like the most delicate opening of a flower, wind, mane and clothes wave past and aside, revealing an adult woman within the next blink of his eyes. He dares coming closer, looking to meet her face, but he's left half-astonished and half-confused after glancing at one single detail not according to the woman he knows as Mylenne.

Her eyes are adorned with her ever so elegant violet markings, still big and bright as the very Moon… gleaming in delicate shades of _gold_.

He steps closer and to her personal space, opting to brush aside the knowledge of Mylenne staring at the sea and through his translucent form, coming with a crushing need to touch her, cradle her beautiful face, just stroke her skin _._ Her panting breath fans between his collarbones and for a very long moment, there's nothing he'd want more than for her to just _see him_. It's nearly overwhelming to see her like that; her glossy golden eyes so fitting, her markings bright and beautiful as they're caressed by the moonlight, her violet mane waving high, with such grace, so grandiose.

Mylenne looks so _real_ and his heart _aches_ for her _. Why can't you see me?_

Once more, the only thing he feels is a gust of wind rushing as the woman walks through his form, his hands grasping only air as her gaze keeps transfixed at the sea before them. Her voice is soft as always yet distant and muffled, heard as if she's talking from many miles away. " _Min'da_ , please…" She only whispers, voice trembling.

His breath hitches as he turns around, words and thoughts alike caught in his throat, unable to do anything but stare at what Mylenne's facing.

An ethereal figure stares back from the middle of the sea, ghostly and delicate feet nearly touching the water, mists of dark purple and azure shaping and giving them a form. Mylenne doesn't seem to have eyes for anyone else but them as she approaches, her sobbing more loudly, her face narrowed by despair as she keeps chanting the same plea over and over. " _Min'da_ , don't go! _Min'da,_ please…"

He walks beside her and closer to the shore, searching for a face among the twisted shadows surrounding the figure, floating softly above the water and so very still—looking impassive, emotionless, their form haloed by the huge Moon dangling over the horizon. Mylenne's cries don't seem to have an effect on them, two azure orbs that could pass for eyes idly looking around at everything and nothing in particular.

… Until that azure gaze lays directly on _him_.

He flinches back in an act of reflex, a cold shiver running down his spine as the figure's eyes gleam heatedly at him, mists and shadows shifting and contorting until the enraged face of Aedriel Stareye takes form. She never speaks a word—doesn't seem willing to and doesn't seem to have a voice at all—but as her fangs are shown, a deep growl resonates around them, the surroundings booming and shaking violently, winds changing their course.

Could that be for Mylenne's despairing state or for his presence in this realm, he can't really guess. Still, and despite all his doubts, he's completely sure the ghost of Conjurer Stareye it's not pleased with the sight of him in the slightest.

Yet, somehow, it's been the only one who could really figure his presence in there.

And at the same time when Mylenne falls to her knees, arms outstretching to the ghostly form before her, realization falls on him as heavy as a rock. _She_ is the only one around with a voice of her own, with a body, with a face that looks as real as in the mortal plane—with bright golden eyes just as fitting, perhaps even more than the woman he knows and cares deeply for.

 _This isn't my dream, it's_ hers _. I'm just an observer._

He can't help but drop himself down next to Mylenne, his heart clenching and aching so very bad with the miserable sight of her, hurting and longing to make his presence known in some way. He wishes so much to make her know he's there, that she doesn't have to walk alone in that dreadful realm; _needs_ so much to comfort her, to hold her in his arms until she awakes once more.

" _Min'da_ , don't go, I beg you!" Mylenne keeps crying but the figure doesn't seem to _care_ , an incensed roar coming from the forest, from the sea, from everywhere and nowhere in particular. If anything, the figure's face contorts deeper, their azure gaze boring and utterly engrossed on him, not acknowledging nor sparing a glance to the woman next to him—the only real and tangible one.

When their ghostly feet come in contact with the sea, the once calm waters start shaking violently, disturbing waves taking form—the twisted figure slowly seeming to melt and become one with the sea. Poisoning mists and shadows in shades of purple and azure spread among the expanse of the sea, tainting the waters as if being thick ink.

He can't help with holding Mylenne's shoulders as she screams in sheer despair, deep down knowing there's no use for it and she still can't feel his presence. Yet is all he can do, whispering soothing nonsense close to her ear, holding her as best as he can as she buries her knees and hands in the sand, thick tears streaming down her cheeks like a flooding river.

Tears thick and gleaming in shades of azure, mirroring the expanse of sea before them, staining her beautiful pale face and tainting all they touch. Polluting, contaminating, cursing…

 _Just like the arcane within her… and within me_.


End file.
